


Song of Cerberus

by chewysugar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Boys Kissing, Coming In Pants, Drunkenness, F/M, Grinding, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Marauders' Era, Mythology References, Neck Kissing, Partying, Public Display of Affection, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 18:24:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13932714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewysugar/pseuds/chewysugar
Summary: His place will always be between the two of them, and that suits them all perfectly fine.





	Song of Cerberus

**Author's Note:**

> Oddly enough, this was inspired by the song "Make Me Feel" by Janelle Monáe. I maintain that that song, and the video, turned me bisexual. I was gay before, and then Janelle turned me bisexual. Mad, isn't it?

Cocooned in sound, stared at with the reverence of Eros come to Earth—what seventeen year old boy wouldn’t want that? The revelry is everywhere in the dormitory; all the Seventh Years and a few Sixth Years--save for any Slytherins--are gathered together like...well, like witches around a cauldron.  
  
There’s scarcely room to breathe and scarcely room for breath. Drinks pass from hand to hand as easy as a stolen glance. Already James has been imbibed enough to feel everything and nothing at all.  
  
A Muggle song, courtesy of the girl with wine red hair and skin like pearl, leads the borderline debauchery.  
  
“ _If you want my body and you think I’m sexy_ —“  
  
Say what you will about Muggles, but their music runs laps around what wizards have to offer. And what’s running around James’ lap right now is a strong, steady arm.  
  
He tosses his head back and laughs. The smell of beer-infused soap and fresh laundry identifies the source of the hold as Sirius. Even if he were sober, James wouldn’t give a care about this flagrant invasion of personal space. They’ve shared the dormitory for seven years; been roommates for one and a half, seen each other without a stitch on during transformations.

And they’ve also kissed of course; a lot, in fact. Moments not so much stolen as given without any hesitation; times pressed into corners or hidden by the shelter of trees and shrubbery. He’s felt Sirius hard—which he’s doing at present as the narcissistic git rocks against him in time to the music.  
  
It’s changed since Lily, though.  
  
The only thing is, James hasn’t entirely liked the change.

Here and now, his inhibitions are pooled around his ankles; his peers and friends are all otherwise distracted: Moony is laughing at something Frank Longbottom has said; Marlene and Alice are drinking each other under the four-poster bed. Nobody is paying attention. He’s got the confidence of Apollo; he’s sailing the high of this Dionysian realm of not caring; and so lets himself drink from the River of Lethe.  
  
Sirius pulls him closer, still canting against him. His hands prowl up James’ chest, opening buttons along the way. Lips that scorch like the sun press against James’ throat. James gasps, and thinks to himself that this must be how Ganymede felt when snatched from earth in the talons of that great, great eagle: terrified, stunned, but still awed at the might of the gods. He curls his arm around and his fingers fist hair as thick and dark as Nix's celestial cloak.  
  
They’re thicker than thieves; more honorbound than samurai. They’ve friends, friendly rivals, lovers and brothers; it’s a bond James can’t fathom for the life of him as much as his relationship with Lily is a mystery. What had he ever been but the spoiled brat prince scion of a wealthy family who treated him like precious quartz?  
  
Sirius chuckles into James’ neck. He almost has all of James’ shirt open now. It’s only when he feels Sirius’ hand brush against his hard-on that James realizes where he is; and more importantly, who could be looking.  
  
He opens wide, fearful eyes: the bravado of Apollo disappears as he locks gazes with emerald flame across the crowded, oblivious room. She is Artemis, passionate and discerning; and he is Actaeon, doomed to be turned to a stag to be devoured by the ravenous hound behind him for daring to profane.  
  
Only Lily doesn’t actually look angry. Perched on the window ledge with one careless leg dangling down, she looks as if the sight of Sirius all but making love to James with both their clothes on is satiating an eternal thirst.  
  
Nymph-like, she slides from the stone ledge and moves through the forest of people.  
  
“Now this,” Sirius growls into James’ ear, “is interesting.”  
  
Lily doesn’t collide with James so much as sinks into him. Her fingers rake the front of his exposed chest. Nails bite into flesh just enough to elicit a sharp hiss; then she lifts one leg, presses it against James’ hip and starts to move in opposition to Sirius.  
  
Gemini ecstasy blinds James to rational thought. He becomes a being of positive pleasure between the two of them. Sirius, who loved him when he was a big-headed ingrate and learned to love him when James leveled out; Lily, who loves him now that he has a decent head on his shoulders and learned to reconcile who he used to be. And he loves them both; can see beyond the wild impulse of Sirius to the loyal companion beneath; can temper that blind need to believe the best in everyone that made Lily overlook the rotten soul of one sulking, greasy-haired slime ball.  
  
Lily takes James’ mouth; her fingers curl into Sirius’ shirt, pressing him on, urging him to rock harder and harder into James. Nothing loathe, she grinds against James from the front, draining his breath with her firewhisky kiss. She pulls back, only to coax James to turn his head to the side. Sirius kisses him soft, in odd contrast to the heat of Lily’s lips. This is the side of him he’s fine letting James and only James see: the side that can be loving and gentle; powerful, yes, but balanced with a little bit of tender.  
  
They’re sharing him, wrecking him...completing him. Here in this sphere of song and drink and delight, they move as one and feel as three. Still clothed but so intimate that they’d render Aphrodite herself scandalized.  
  
Utter bliss hits James like a spear. He’ll be shamefaced later at spending in his jeans, but that’s a battle for another day. Now is all about the pleasure. It blossoms throughout his body; he comes undone between dog and doe, trembling in blind delight, not knowing whose hands or lips or tongue it is.

All he knows as that there’s nowhere between Hades or Olympus that had he’d rather be than here, where he belongs: between his goddess and god.

**Author's Note:**

> Do let me know what you think.


End file.
